The morning of departure arrived. Robin woke before dawn, completed his final daily quest in Winterfell. Push-ups, ditation, weapon forms. The routine had beco automatic.
[DAILY QUEST COMPLETE]
[ 50 EXP]
[LEVEL 6: 205/600 EXP]
He packed his ager belongings into a worn cloth sack. One change of clothes. His damaged training dagger wrapped in fabric. A small stolen book on military tactics. Nothing else. He owned nothing else.
The convoy assembled in the main courtyard as dawn broke. Five wagons loaded with supplies and equipnt. A dozen guards on horseback. Two ornate carriages for noble passengers.
Leo stood near the lead carriage, surrounded by well-wishers. Servants loaded multiple trunks of his belongings, each probably worth more than everything Robin had ever owned. Marcus offered final advice. The Duke observed from a distance, his expression unreadable.
"You." A gruff voice. The convoy master, a scarred veteran nad Genn. "Supply wagon. Third one back. Don’t touch anything. Stay out of sight when we stop."
"Understood."
Robin climbed into the designated wagon. It was cramd with barrels and crates, food, spare equipnt, trade goods. A tiny space remained in the back, barely enough to sit.
Two other passengers were already there. An older woman with gray hair and a younger man around twenty. Servants, by their worn clothing.
"You’re the cursed one," the woman stated.
"Robin Stark."
"Marta. This is Joff." She gestured to the young man. "We’re part of Young Master Leo’s household staff."
Joff nodded uncomfortably but didn’t speak. Probably didn’t want association with the family embarrassnt.
A horn blew. The convoy lurched into motion.
Robin watched Winterfell’s gates pass overhead. The place that had tried to kill him through neglect was finally behind him. He felt nothing. No nostalgia. No regret. Just satisfaction.
Finally leaving this prison.
The first day crawled by. The wagon’s rough motion transmitted every bump directly through the wooden boards. But Robin’s improved endurance made it manageable.
Marta tried making conversation. Robin answered briefly. Politely. Gave nothing away.
They stopped for lunch at midday. The nobles ate in a portable pavilion, fine food and wine. Guards ate around a fire, dried at and bread.
Robin and the wagon passengers received bowls of thin stew and hard biscuits, eaten sitting on the ground.
The hierarchy made physical. And I’m at the bottom.
Leo walked past once. Glanced at Robin sitting in the dirt. Smirked. Kept walking.
Robin watched him go. Filed the contempt away.
The afternoon wore on. Robin couldn’t practice weapon forms in the cramped space, but he could ditate. Could ntally review tactical scenarios. Could prepare for the Academy exams.
The written test would cover military history, strategic theory, and ethics. Justin had taken this exam, Robin knew the format intimately.
Answer correctly but make it age-appropriate. Too sophisticated and they’ll suspect cheating.
The mana aptitude test would be humiliating. His F- rank displayed publicly.
Let them laugh. It makes the combat trial more impressive.
The combat trial was everything. Where skill separated from luck.
I’ve killed dozens of beasts. The trial beast will be controlled. Weakened. Easy prey.
Night fell. The convoy made camp. Tents for nobles. Bedrolls for guards. Wagon passengers slept beneath the wagons.
Robin claid a spot under the third wagon. Cold and hard, but sheltered from wind.
He waited until the camp settled. Then slipped away into the nearby forest.
An hour of weapon practice in moonlight. Strikes against tree trunks. Building muscle mory. Keeping skills sharp.
Then back to camp before anyone noticed his absence.
This beca his routine. Days in the wagon enduring discomfort. Nights training in secret.
The journey dragged on. Days blurred together. The landscape changed gradually, northern mountains to rolling hills to cultivated farmland.
Marta ward to Robin over the days. Started sharing extra food with him.
"You’re not what I expected," she said one evening.
"What did you expect?"
"Weak and pathetic. But you endure better than most. No complaints." I have studied him. "You’re different."
Robin said nothing. Let her draw her own conclusions.
On the eighth day, disaster struck.
The convoy stopped suddenly. Shouting from the front. Guards moving urgently.
Robin climbed out. Moved forward carefully, staying hidden.
Bandits. Twenty n blocking the road. Ard with poor weapons, rusty swords, crude spears. Desperate n, probably displaced by Void breaches.
The convoy master was negotiating. Trying to avoid bloodshed. But the bandit leader, a scarred man with a cruel face was getting aggressive. Demanding more than they’d give.
Violence was coming.
Robin analyzed the bandits’ positions. Their formation. Weak points.
Poor discipline. No real training. Farrs turned brigands.
But twenty against twelve guards with civilians to protect, bad odds.
The negotiation broke down. The bandits attacked.
Chaos. Guards ford a defensive line. Steel clashed. n shouted.
The guards were skilled but outnumbered. Three bandits broke through, rushing toward the wagons. Looking for loot and hostages.
Robin stepped between them and the supply wagons. Drew his dagger.
The lead bandit saw him. Laughed. "A child playing soldier!"
Robin assessed the threat. Three n. One sword, two clubs. Bigger and stronger than him.
But slower, untrained and predictable.
The swordsman lunged first. Overconfident.
Robin sidestepped. His dagger flashed opening a gash across the bandit’s sword arm. The man yelped. Dropped his weapon.
The club-wielders attacked together. Robin used the fallen swordsman as an obstacle. Made them interfere with each other.
When they separated, he struck precisely. A kick to one’s knee. A dagger thrust to the other’s hand. Both went down, injured but alive.
Ten seconds. Three bandits neutralized.
The main fight was over. Surviving bandits fled. Several guards were wounded but alive.
And Robin stood over three disabled attackers, dagger dripping blood.
Genn, the convoy master, stared at him. Shocked.
"They were attacking the wagons," Robin said simply. "I defended the supplies."
"You... defended." Genn looked at the groaning bandits. "Where did you learn to fight like that?"
"Books."
"Books." Genn laughed, slightly hysterical. "Right. Books."
Word spread through the convoy quickly. The cursed child had fought off three bandits alone and efficiently.
Leo heard about it. His expression darkened. He said nothing, but his eyes found Robin across camp that evening.
The remainder of the journey was different. People watched Robin now.
Marta brought extra food openly. "You saved us. Thank you."
Even Joff nodded respect, grudging but genuine.
Robin accepted it without comnt. He hadn’t fought for gratitude. He’d fought because defending the convoy served his interests.
The days continued. Robin maintained his routine, enduring travel by day, training by night. His body adapted. His skills stayed sharp. His mind prepared constantly.
He thought about Leo, who rode in comfort with everything provided. Who’d never had to fight for anything. Who assud strength ca from status.
He’ll fail eventually. Not at the entrance exams those are designed for nobles to pass. But later. When real challenges co. When status doesn’t matter and only skill survives.
Robin smiled in the darkness of the wagon.
I’ve already survived what should have killed . The Academy will be easy by comparison.
On the fourteenth day, they crested a hill.
The valley below held Aethelgard. The capital.
Massive. Sprawling. Walls that could hold back armies. Towers reaching skyward. And in the center, the royal palace.
Sowhere in that city was the Royal Military Academy.
Sowhere in that city was Robin’s future.
Robin’s tactical mind was already working. Mapping. Planning. Adapting to new terrain.
Two weeks of discomfort. Two weeks of being reminded I’m the lowest of the low.
Worth every second.
The convoy descended toward the gates.
Robin watched the city grow larger with each step. His enhanced perception took in details, guard positions, wall structure, population density.
This is it. The real beginning.
The Academy entrance exams were in three days. Three days to scout. To prepare. To finalize strategy.
Three days until Robin Stark proved everyone wrong.
The convoy passed through the massive gates. Into noise. Crowds. Possibilities.
The city swallowed them. Streets packed with people. Buildings rising on all sides. The sll of thousands of humans living in close proximity; sweat, food, waste, life.
Leo’s carriage headed toward the noble district. Where House Stark maintained a townhouse for business in the capital.
The supply wagons headed toward the rchant quarter. Where servants would unload. Where Robin would be dismissed.
Genn approached as they stopped. "You’ll be on your own from here. The convoy’s job is done."
"Understood."
"The Academy is in the eastern district. You know how to get there?"
"I’ll find it."
Genn looked at him. Then pulled out a small coin purse. "Here. Five coppers. Not much, but it’ll get you food and a place to sleep until the exams."
Robin hesitated. This was unexpected.
"Take it," Genn said gruffly. "You earned it. Defending the convoy." He paused. "And... good luck, kid. You’re going to need it."
Robin took the purse. "Thank you."
He climbed down from the wagon. Shouldered his small pack. Stood in the street as the convoy dispersed around him.
Alone. In the capital. With five coppers, a damaged dagger, and determination forged in dungeons and betrayal.
Robin looked up at the sky.
Three days.
He started walking east. Toward the Academy district. Toward his future.
Behind him, the convoy continued its work. Leo would arrive at the townhouse. Would be welcod. Given everything he needed. Pampered and prepared.
Ahead of him, Robin had nothing but what he carried.
Exactly how I want it.
The cursed child walked into the capital’s crowds and disappeared.
A ghost in a city of thousands.
Preparing to beco sothing they’d never see coming.
The ga had truly begun.
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